


Comfortably Numb

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Angry John, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hurt Sherlock, John can't stay angry for long, John gets more sweary, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mini-plot, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13526157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: John is on his last nerve; he gets sweary.





	1. Prat, Plonker, Pillock.

**Author's Note:**

> Not a WIP

John tumbled his detective into the cab and climbed in after him. 

“221B Baker Street.”

“Fare is extra if he-” the cabby began, but John cut him off mid-sentence.

“I’ll hang his head out the window if that will ease your concern about the upholstery,” John shot back, in no mood to be nice.

“See that you do.”

Sherlock groaned, scattering the next words John was about to hurl toward the front. “I’m here, Sherlock. I’ll take care of you.”

Sherlock tipped to the side, leaning heavily on his shoulder; John pulled him all the way down to cradle his curly head in his lap. With one hand tangled in Sherlock’s damp curls and the other stroking the fine hair at his nape, it was the most he could do to comfort until they were home.

Sherlock groaned again, shifting his impossibly long legs in the small space provided. Cabs weren’t built for comfort, John groused. After the day they’d had, any polite response to anyone but Sherlock was nigh on impossible.

“John?”

Leaning over him as near as space allowed, John caressed his cheek. “I’m here, love. We’re almost home.”

“Okay.”

When John looked up again, the cabby scowled at him via the rear view mirror.

“You have a problem?”

Wordless, the cabby ignored John, turning his attention back to the traffic in front of them. Letting out a silent breath of thanks for not having to eviscerate the man a la Sherlock Holmes, he thought of a number of curses, but settled on berk because it didn’t rankle as much. 

As he calmed himself, John tried to put the cabby out of his mind, but decided that berk was too mild a word for the idiot. Prat, Plonker, Pillock. Delete. Delete. Delete! He couldn’t delete. Shite. Even those words didn’t suit. 

Although he desperately wanted to unleash his best shots, he banished from his mind any further thought of the man as not worthy of his time or anger, and turned his attention back to the man sprawled across his lap.


	2. “It’s for a Case, Isn’t It, John, Yes?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson and the boys from Speedy's to the rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not a WIP :)

When they arrived at Baker Street, John leaned forward, eliciting Sherlock’s protest, to drop the fare on the front seat. A handful of coin from his pocket followed. “For your anxiety.” His snark earned him a scowl for his trouble. He didn’t much care. 

“Wanker,” he mumbled under his breath as he climbed out, coaxing Sherlock out after him to stand on the pavement. The detective swayed in place until John tucked himself under Sherlock’s arm and wrapped an arm around his slim waist. 

“Don’t fall, Sherlock, I won’t be able to lift you and I’m sure the boys at Speedy’s have better things to do than carry you upstairs.”

Sherlock walked several shaky steps, and without warning, went down like he’d been shot. John supported his weight only long enough to protect his head from hitting the pavement.

“I told you not to fall, Sherlock. Shite. You don’t hear a word I say, do you?” John shouted. 

Sherlock reached out toward him. “John?”

“Right here, love,” he whispered, instantly contrite.

Behind them, the door opened. Mrs. Hudson hurried toward them. “Oh, dear. I’ll get the boys from Speedy’s,” she called out as she passed them, her hands fluttering like a bird in distress. 

Clearly the universe was at work here. Or fate, or..whatever. Within seconds of Mrs. Hudson pushing through the door to the sandwich shop, two men hurried toward him.

The younger and taller of the two knelt down, sniffed and blew out a heavy breath. “Pissed, is he, then? Bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bugger off, boys, Sherlock is not drunk,” John bellowed at them. 

“It’s for a case, isn’t it? John, yes?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. It is, was, last night, not this time of morning,” John insisted, to ease her mind, and to protect Sherlock, not that his detective cared one whit about what people thought. It was a knee-jerk reaction, one he’d never learned to control when he felt Sherlock needed defending. He would always protect his detective, the man, and the legend-in-the-making.

John shook his head at his own foolish thoughts. Besotted, that’s what he was, and not a bit repentant. Forcing down a smile, he stood back as the brothers lifted Sherlock to his feet, deftly avoiding the sudden batting away of hands by the protesting consulting detective. 

John leaned in against his ear. “Behave Sherlock, for just a few more minutes, and then you can have as much of a strop as you need.”

Sherlock’s eyes, now bloodshot, red-rimmed, and thoroughly out of focus, searched for him, then fell shut.

“John?”

“Still here.”

“I’ll be good.”

“You’re brilliant, Sherlock. Just a bit longer.”

Mrs. Hudson held the door for them, following up the seventeen stairs to the flat and veering off to the kitchen. Tea-making, John was sure.

“If you wouldn’t mind, follow me?”

The two oversized men followed John to the bedroom, where they gently rolled Sherlock onto the bed. 

“Anything else we can do for you while we’re here, Dr. Watson?”

“It’s John, and thank you for bringing him up. I can care for him now,” John said, offering his hand, which both men accepted, then turned smartly on their obviously military heels and retreated. Too knackered to apologise coherently, John stared at the empty hallway long after they’d disappeared from sight.

Mrs. Hudson peeked in from the door. “The kettle is on, dear, is there anything else I can do? Bring some munchies for you? Or if I can do anything else, really, just give a shout?”

“I will, Mrs. Hudson, thank you. Sleep is what he needs right now.”

“All right, dear, I’m just downstairs.”

“I promise I’ll call if we need you.”

“All right, then,” she whispered, tiptoeing away.

John listened for the careful footsteps descending the stairs and the soft click of the door to the landlady’s flat before turning back to his patient.

Silence descended, for which John was grateful.


	3. “Clotted cream, Jooohn.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can’t sleep on his own. (Insert waggling eyebrows here.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, still not a WIP.

Several moments of brilliant silence continued, until Sherlock moaned.

“John?”

John eased himself down on the edge of the bed. “I’m here, love. Right here beside you,” he said, holding Sherlock’s cool hand between his own.

“Jooohn?”

“What is it, love?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“I didn’t wait.”

“No, you didn’t, you git.”

“I got myself into trouble...again.”

“Yes, you did, and you definitely were not batting on a full wicket.”

“Jooohn?”

“Yes, love?”

“My head feels like it’s full of clotted cream.”

“I’m sure it does. You took quite a whack to the back of your head. You were unconscious for one very long minute, but you arrogantly passed the concussion test, God knows how you did that, but you do have a hard head, so I guess you were pretty lucky.”

“Clotted cream, Jooohn.”

“Yes, love. No restriction on sleep, which you need a lot of to replenish your deficit. That will take care of the clotted cream.”

“I need you here,” Sherlock whinged, poking the mattress at his hip with a determined finger. “I can’t sleep without you.”

“You aren’t a child, my love. You can sleep on your own if you think about it a bit. First, though, I want to bathe you and get you comfortable.”

“Baaathe me? Jooohn?”


	4. “Will.You.Sleep.With.Me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s sentiment is showing.

“Baaathe me? Jooohn?” 

“No need to repeat. Yes, love, you don’t smell like you at all.”

“In the bath? 

“I think I can get you there and back if you’ll help me. Would you do that for me?”

“Oh, yes, John, I can do that.” 

John could almost see the wobbly wheels turning in that genius mind. There was nothing Sherlock liked better than tactile ministrations, especially when his genius was shut down.

John gazed at his love for several minutes before leaning down to kiss him. The finger that had protested sleep touched John’s cheek. 

“Love you. You are sooo good to me, John Watson.”

“Right. Just remember that when I insist you sleep.”

“With you by my side, I will s-sleeeep for as long as you wish me to.”

“Uh-huh. As long as you don’t fall asleep in the bath, we’re good.”

“Will you?”

“Will I what, Sherlock?”

“Will.you.sleep.with.me?”

“Well...I don’t know, love, I guess I could do that...since I’ve slept with you nearly every night for a few years now. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, John, I remember that very well. I’m not concussed, John, don’t be an idiot.”

“Two Johns in two sentences and an endearing term. Be careful, Sherlock, your sentiment is showing.” John turned and left the room, shaking his head at Sherlock’s indignant tone. He stood just outside the door, waiting.

“John. John? Don’t leave me?”

“There’s my Sherlock,” he whispered, smiling on his way to loo to gather the necessities.


	5. Some Things Never Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sponge bath it is, then.

When John stood beside the bed ten minutes later, after he’d finally calmed his thudding heart and pushed his stomach down from his throat to where, anatomically speaking, it was supposed to be, Sherlock was asleep and he knew he’d never get the lanky git safely into the bath. 

“Sponge bath it is, then,” John said with a sigh.

Armed with a basin of water, a capful of Sherlock’s special body wash, and a flannel, all of which he placed on the nightstand, John sat down on the edge of the bed to assess the situation.

A sleeping detective was more unwieldy than he’d imagined, but John pushed, pulled, straddled, and rolled until Sherlock was naked and draped with a sheet. 

“Some things never change,” he smirked, remembering Buckingham Palace. 

Only just a bit out of practice, John efficiently and lovingly washed all of Sherlock’s frontal nooks and crannies, rolled him over to wash all those additional adorable places, and secretly placed a kiss to his lush arse, then rolled him back and not once did Sherlock stir from sleep.

After replenishing the basin with clear warm water, and wiping Sherlock down in the same order, he paused to catch his breath, and stretch his aching muscles.

Checking the pulse at thin wrist and long neck, because he needed to for his own sake as well as Sherlock’s, John breathed easier when he found both strong and steady. 

When his arms started to shake as his adrenalin finally abated, he pulled the sheet and duvet up to Sherlock’s chin. The pyjamas would have to wait until Sherlock could help.


	6. John Reviews How the Case Went So Fucking Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigh, more sweary-ing John? :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the title, but I’m just keeping my promise to njm.

While Sherlock slept deeply, John brewed tea, and for a few quiet minutes dropped into a chair at the kitchen table to gaze unfocused, and to review.

In his mind’s eye he clearly saw the moment the enraged barroom patron threw the drink at Sherlock’s head, glass and all. The man disagreed with the detective on his opinion of some sort that when it was all over, John hadn’t a clue. He’d stepped between the two men to calm the argument, but in the blink of an eye, the enormous bartender stepped from behind the bar carrying a rounders bat, and his target was definitely Sherlock’s head.

John pushed Sherlock out of the way, and came up low, planting a fist in the man’s gut to slow him down, but only just. The forward motion of the bat missed by mere inches, but the swingback caught the detective on the shoulder and continued at a much slower and less damaging momentum to connect with his skull. Sherlock went down to his knees, and then dropped face to the floor. 

Anger coursing through his body allowed John to disarm the bartender just seconds before DI Lestrade, who was late joining them, arrived. At nearly one in the morning, Greg took charge and escorted John and Sherlock off the premises, but not before throwing a warning over his shoulder that the next time there would be charges. 

Sherlock protested all the way to the A & E, stating emphatically that he was not at fault. When John and Greg agreed that he was a not-quite-so-innocent bystander, Sherlock further complained about being in a police car instead of a cab. They’d passed most of night in hospital getting Sherlock’s head stitched and then there was the observation for a concussion. 

It had been a long night into morning and, it wasn’t yet mid-afternoon. John sighed.


	7. "I Always Knew You Had a Hard Head"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gently admonishes Sherlock.

“John?”

Sherlock stood at the kitchen entrance, draped in his sheet, looking forlorn and still a bit not good.

John should have been angry, but his love for this man swept it all away, leaving him relieved that there would be no lasting damage. Standing up quickly to go to him, John took his hand and guided him to a chair at the table where his pocket torch waited to check his detective’s pupil response. Sherlock sat quietly while John performed the simple procedure. 

“I always knew you had a hard head.”

Sherlock snorted. “Just ask my brother, he’ll be glad to tell stories you’d never believe.”

“I’m sure he would and I would believe him. After all we’ve been through together, there is nothing you could do that I wouldn’t believe.”

“John?” Sherlock queried, wearing his drama queen face.

“Sherlock, it’s over. You’re okay. We can’t go back and change any of it, and I don’t think I’ll be including this in any blog post.”

“I’ve disappointed you.”

“Yes, and, no. I know you, Sherlock, you always do what you believe is the right thing to do.”

“You’ve always known this about me, John. Why is this instance any different?”

John looked away to gather his thoughts for a credible answer to satisfy the curiosity rolling off Sherlock in waves. 

“John?”

“It’s different because I love you and just a few hours ago you almost got your head bashed in by a rounders bat. After the last time, nope,” he tipped his head, “Not going there. You are who you are, Sherlock and you can’t change who you are because then you wouldn’t be you and it would change the Work and it might bring an end to all the good that you do.”

“I should have remembered that my deductions nearly destroyed you when Mary..”

“No, Sherlock, please. I don’t want to hear that right how. I just want you to be more careful about antagonising people when you know they’re guilty. When you accused the man you suspected of stealing the ring, you didn’t need to tell him that his girlfriend, to whom he was going to gift the ring, was cheating on him. But you had to show off how clever you are and tell the bartender that his boyfriend was cheating on him, too.”

When he could finally look at Sherlock, the sorrow in those amazing eyes made his heart stutter. He groaned in surrender.

“I’ll brew some tea, and there are some biscuits that Mrs. Hudson left for us yesterday. Since neither of us had breakfast this morning, it should be enough to get us to a late lunch.”

Sherlock dropped to his knees so that John could not step away toward the worktop. Instead, he placed his hands on John’s hips and rested his forehead against John’s abdomen. John held his breath, waiting for the inevitable rationalisation that cloaked Sherlock’s trembling body, but nothing was forthcoming. The silence was deafening.

Mindful of the stitches just behind his crown, John tangled his fingers in the riot of curls and sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” he ground out, kneeling so that he could capture Sherlock’s gaze. 

“Whatever you wish. Be angry with me, shout at me, don’t speak to me for hours. I don’t care, John. You seem to think that I can read your mind, but in truth, I can’t. I don’t have any more magic tricks that I can use, because I gave them all away that day. I can only read your expressions and glean what I can from them and your words. Tell me, John. I will do anything you ask. Just don’t leave me alone.”

There it was, the old insecurity, the one Sherlock feared most. “Sherlock, look at me. Please?”

Eyes awash with unshed tears held his gaze. John caressed Sherlock’s incredible cheekbones before kissing each one tenderly.

“I love you too much to leave you. All I want is for you to remember that I need you to stay with me, to stay alive long enough for us to grow old together. And for you to do that, you have to be more careful with the you that I love. Would you do that for me?”

Sherlock flushed at John’s words, the truth of them finding a home in those incredible green eyes. The pinky cheekbones were impressive to see, John mused for just a moment, searching for words to imprint his love on Sherlock’s soul.

“You are the love of my life. I can’t say that enough; I want you to believe it in your heart, Sherlock. You are the reason I am able to get through each day. If you died, again, I would die with you. No shite, Sherlock. I would not live without you. I cannot do it again. I won’t do it again. Do you understand?”

Sherlock blinked, the tears streaking his face. “Yes, I understand,” he said, gripping John’s hips harder than before, the color draining from his face, leaving him pallid, as though he might faint.

“John?”

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Clotted cream?”

“Let me help you up. Back to bed, you. I’ll get you settled and come back for the tea and biscuits.”

Sherlock held a fistful of his shirt as they crossed the sitting room.

“All right?”

“I think I need to walk a bit faster.”


	8. Sherlock Pines for John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can finally laugh, but only just.

In the bedroom, Sherlock dropped to the edge of the bed, turned and crawled across to the other side, falling face first into the pillow. 

“My eyes are closed, but the room is still spinning.”

“That’s what happens when you get knocked in the head. It scrambles your brain. And your brain is not something that takes kindly to that. That lovely brain inside that gorgeous skull is not an egg.”

“Yes, John, thank you,” Sherlock said with a groan. “I promise to be more careful in the future. Just don’t regale me with your made up on the spot colloquialisms. Those scramble my brain all the more.

John giggled, pressing a kiss to his pout. “All right for a few minutes while I make tea?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a bit peckish?”

“No, but I’m still waiting for one or two of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be back in a few.”

“I’ll be here pining for you.”

“Haha, Sherlock.”

“Am I forgiven for my transgression?”

“I’ll let you know when I return.”

When Sherlock sighed dramatically. John made a hasty retreat so his laughter wouldn’t be detected. He was still grinning when he reached the kitchen.


	9. "You Sound Like God"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John forgives the lanky git.

Much later, after more sleeping for both of them, and a light dinner eaten in bed, John returned to the bedroom after rinsing and stacking the dishes in the sink for the morning. Beckoned to lie down again, he obliged, holding an affectionate Sherlock against his chest.

While John tried to read, Sherlock pressed an array of kisses to various places on John’s head and neck which was more than a bit distracting. Barely managing to keep his silence, or from initiating something more that might be somewhat overwhelming for both of them considering Sherlock’s head injury, John finally threw down his book in an effort to change the subject in his own mind.

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Comfortably numb, thank you. And you?”

“Fine.”

“It’s all fine, or you’re fine?”

“Both, Berk. And I’m sorry I lectured you.”

“No, John, you are and have always been my compass. I am guided by your good sense and moral code.”  
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Sometimes, as you have reminded me a gazillion times, I get carried away by my own cleverness and I forget the things you try to teach me.”

“Did you just say gazillion?”

“I may have,” he admitted, tapping gently on John’s sternum.

“I forgive you, you mad genius, but you already know that there is nothing I can’t forgive if you are truly sorry.”

“You sound like God.”

“I’ve forgiven you, Sherlock. Don’t spoil it.”

“Hush, John. I find I am in need of an abundance of tender loving care. Perhaps you would allow me to spoon with you? That is, of course, if you’ve truly forgiven me and are not patronising me for some ulterior motive?”

Sherlock’s sweet, vulnerable look melted his heart and every other part of him, even as he narrowed his eyes and wondered for a brief moment it was an act. No matter. He knew Sherlock’s true heart. “Yes, my love, you are truly forgiven, and spooning with you is a perfectly sensible suggestion, after you sleep.”

“Excellent.”

“No, my love, brilliant,” John whispered against Sherlock’s temple, dropping a tender kiss there.

Sherlock curled up against his shoulder, slithering an arm across his belly and tucking it beneath his hip. The sound of his sigh slid like a shiver down John’s spine. 

“Brilliant,” he whispered as he followed Sherlock into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who commented and sent along kudos. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.
> 
> Now that this one is posted, I'm off to edit the next one, titled "Even Now." It's a mixture of emotions, as my stories usually are, but this time there will be a song involved and Sherlock will learn more of the loss John endured while our consulting detective was away.
> 
> Just as an aside, the stories posted in January 2018 all originated in NaNoWriMo 2017. I'm now getting into the darkness that was my 'mind cubby' during that time from November 1st to January 28th. Not really depression, just remembering all those I've lost during that time frame. I will tag each story as best I can and hope that I don't chase anyone away.
> 
> I'll be back soon. <3 to all. 
> 
> AJ


End file.
